


Igniting Sparks

by Forever_In_Flames



Series: Royal Love [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Arranged bondings, Assassins & Hitmen, Black Markets, Bounty Hunters, Cybertronians wearing clothing, Domestic Violence, Drug lords, F/F, F/M, Forced Abortion, M/M, Mech Preg, Prostitution, Secret Organizations, Social expectations, Spark Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Strict pregnancy laws, Underage Drinking, Unplanned Pregnancy, World builing, caste system
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forever_In_Flames/pseuds/Forever_In_Flames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being born as the royal heir to the leading house of Polyhex Ratchet felt as if his own life wasn't his to control anymore. With his becoming of age cycle coming faster each passing moment he takes a chance of a life time to escape the grounds for night. Unknowingly starting something much bigger than himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Igniting Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> *Athro- Teacher  
> ** Darian Dawel- Silent  
> ***Fyn- Kid
> 
> Times:  
> Vorn-year  
> Orn-hour  
> Click-minutes  
> Cycle-days
> 
> So I've been wanting to do this for a while and I finally got around do doing it after much consideration, i probably but a bit to much detail in the back around and reasoning but meh, I'm liking how it's turning out so far.

Running through the empty streets in the early clicks of the night cycle a masked, hooded trench coat clad mech kept to the shadows. Looking up into to moonless sky, the bright illumination from the nearby starts more than enough to make a shadowy form of a cloaked figure on top of the building crouching at the nearest corner observing the ongoing city activity even this early in the morning cycle. Ducking and weaving between buildings to avoid being spotted by bots walking to their destination, the last thing the cloaked figure needed was attention drawn to them.

 

Jumping up a grabbing the nearest ledge of the opposite building, the smaller frame used to leverage to jumps from wall to wall until they reached an are right behind the shadowy figure, kneeling while waiting for the other’s acknowledgement.

 

“Were you seen by anyone?” The larger cloaked figure demanded

 

“No athro* I was not seen, nor had I run into any trouble during the scouting tour.”  A younger voice reports

 

Nodding the larger figure beckons the smaller one forwards directing them to join them on the corner, moving at the other’s command the smaller figure crouched down next to the “athro”. Pulling the hood back and removing the sharp angled mask to reveal a mech no older than13 vorns, releasing a deep sigh and venting in the crisp atmosphere.

 

“You have done well fyn**, I’m proud of you. After these three vorn I can say without doubt that you will become an excellent Darian Dawel***.” The older voice said as they to pulled back their own hood and mask revealing a scarred femme probably no older than 20 vorn.

 

“Athro, is it hard to accept the responsibilities of a Darian?” the mech asked

 

“Becoming a Darian is different for any one; it is only for those who show that they are capable of dealing and those who aren’t abuse the power do not belong in our ranks. Listen carefully fyn we carry the balance on our shoulders, we do it for those who can’t, always remember that.” The older femme instructed before turning to resume her diligent watch of the large city.

 

* * *

 

Ratchet looked longingly at the outside world, pressing a hand to the thick glass separating him. It was laughable at most, the thick glass constantly tormenting and reminding him of his role, that he will never be able to touch only watch as the world moves past him. Cut off from anyone that actually seemed really, stuck in the unending joke of his life.

 

From the start it wasn’t his life to begin with, his creators had every step planned for him the moment he emerged. Adjusting his traditional wear Ratchet gave one last look to large protruding glass overhang, the only thing closest thing he could get to physical interact outside the walls of the palace. Sighing Ratchet walked through the high vaulted ceilings not exactly having a location to go to and not knowing where his pedes were taking him, passing several servants they all gave him a respectful bow and saying the same phrase he’s herd ever since he could walk. I return he waved them off he was getting rather tired of everyone treating him better than they themselves.

 

It was always Lord Ratchet this and Lord Ratchet that, and people basically kissing the ground he walked on due to his title. Didn’t they realize? Titles mean nothing in the long if you can’t use it to better society. As of now he’d done nothing other than to be the single mech heir of the royal leading house of Polyhex, he was just like any other. Sure being carrier had its differences, being a mech carrier wasn’t all that special either. They were plant other mech carriers out there, but did they get the pampering he didn’t deserve, of course not they had to work to support their sparklings an when they couldn’t they were either abandoned or given away.

 

As he continued wandering his pedes automatically followed the path that he always had when he needed some advice, turning yet another corner in the lower halls Ratchet came to his destination. A simple door compared to the lavish halls, Ratchet keyed opened the door without announcing his presences. It had become almost second nature when entering the room; a single mech sat facing the window hunched over what seemed to be a thick data pad.

 

Knowing the mech wouldn’t ignore him for long he flopped down on the purple couch, pedes dangling off the edge. Peeking just over the arm of the furniture he still saw the other hunched over his desk, dropping his helm against the silks with a muffled thump. Smirking as he heard a stylus being placed down and a long suffering sigh accompanying it,

 

“It’s a wonder how I get any work done with you around,” The mech sighed

 

“Hey, don’t blame me, I didn’t say anything. You could have finished your work carri’,” Ratchet replied

 

“Don’t you think you’re getting a bit old to using that nickname Ratchet, I thought you would stop using it when you turned at least 10 vorn. Never knew you’d keep using now,” the mech said turning around revealing bright yellow optics on a scarred face plate,

 

“I’m hurt I thought you liked it when I called you carri’, or would you prefer noble nurse Timerest?” Ratchet joked

 

Grimacing at the title he was given when he was first brought into the house to take care of the young, now fully grown mech in front of him. Shaking his helm he locked optics with the 16 vorn prince, raising him since he emerged had its advantages. Like now he knew something wore heavily down on the younger’s spark,

 

“So what’s wrong, and don’t give me that look. I’ve known you long enough that I know you didn’t just drop by to pester me.” Timerest said standing to walk over, low cut tunic and long transparent scarf draping around flowing with each of him movements.

 

Holding his hands up in surrender Ratchet let out a sigh, “I want to go outside, experience things for myself; I’m tired of being held back by these walls. I want to help those who need it,” he said

 

“Ratchet, trust me I know how you feel, but you have responsibilities. Your creators don’t want to risk you being taken and held for ransom.” Timerest tried to reason,

 

“My creators? They don’t care about me; they care about what I can do. From the moment I started walking I bet they had suitors lining up basically knocking on the door, face it Timerest you were more of a carrier then she will ever be.” Ratchet said with a deep frown etched into his face plates,

 

Rubbing a hand along the white helm Timerest let Ratchet place his helm on his well armored thighs, feeling a pang of sadness for the younger mech. He knew that no youngling should hold such resentment towards their creators, but held on top of high pedestal and treated more like a fragile object rather than a mech with feelings and emotions. It was no wonder he hadn’t snapped at them yet, being a carrier would make this especially difficult.

 

Emerging as a carrier Ratchet’s whole future was laid out before him, when the mechlings had turned 17 vorn he would be bonded to the mech of Crystal City. He would carry as many heirs as his suitor wanted and would do so without protest. To him it was disgusting; Ratchet had probably one of the brightest sparks. Always wanting to help those deemed lower than himself even if it meant that he were to be punished, to have that type of opportunity ripped away without his own say in anything he had the full right to be angry.

 

Being of 16 vorn the upcoming orn were going to be the hardest the white and orange clothed mech would probably, then after the bonding depending on how the mech from crystal city was like he would return to his life behind glass, or paraded around with his partner and treated like an untouchable object all over again.

 

Feeling the mech jerk and shoot straight into a sitting position, had Timerest pressing himself into the padding to avoid having a full on collision with the other.

 

“Ratch’? What is it mechlings, spit it out.” Timerest coaxed the seemingly in frozen mech, mouth drawn in a straight line.

 

“My creators are calling for me; they want me to go for another physical examination.” Ratchet said,

 

“Again? I thought you had one just a few solar cycles ago,” Timerest asked

 

“I did, the way my creators keep checking me I think they feel like I have secret lover who comes to me every solar and share passion throughout the night.” Ratchet barked, with this Timerest couldn’t help but chuckle at the pouting mech.

 

“You somehow find my situation funny?” Ratchet said pout deepening,

 

“No, nothing like that. I just found it amusing that just described every cliché romance holo-flick ever to be made, but I do agree that what your creators are doing is just over the top possessive.” Timerest said, which earned a small smirk from the other.

 

The moment was soon ruined by the overhead speaker as it gave a warning beep before a stern voice flooded the room,

 

“Prince Ratchet, you are here by ordered to come to the medical facility as per our agreement.” With that the announcement was cut short,

 

“Well I better get going before the tower is put on lock down and I’m dragged there,” Ratchet with a drawn out sigh.

 

Getting up to walk out he was halted by a heavy hand on his shoulder, looking back and locking optics with ones so different from his own. Even with the differences the message was still clear as day,

 

_I will be with you along this road, no matter what._

Letting the door close behind him, Ratchet steeled him for the continuous poking and prodding before stalking down the hall trying to draw out the walk to a few levels below him take as long as possible. After a few minutes of dragging his pedes he decide the faster he got there, the faster he could get the whole procedure over with and the faster he could go back to doing what he wanted.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ratchet, darling where have you been?” A freakishly slim femme asks, her orange and purple robes whipping around with her sudden movement.

 

“Your carrier is in the right mind set, where have you been Ratchet.” The stern voice that called him over the speakers drifted over to from a heavily built mech that towered over anyone in the room, his own blue and white robes trailing behind him.

 

“I was just with Timerest creators,” Ratchet replied,

 

“You spend too much time with that Tarnian; you should more time with Cybertronians your own class.” The femme said, which in turn made Ratchet bristle. What Cybertronians? He couldn’t meet anyone new locked up here, and if his carrier is talking about the other royals that are paid to come here. Biting his glossa from snapping at his carrier, which he knew would lead for far greater repercussions.

 

The three stood in relative silence until a white and red medical droid appeared floating out of the deployment hatch leading away from the medical bay, hovering over to the trio it looks pointedly at Ratchet, then at the door.

 

“The doctor must be ready for you dear, your sire and I will be in the examination room with the other doctors.” The femme said as she and the mush large mech walked down a separate hallway leading to a pair of double doors which opened upon their arrival. Grunting Ratchet let the little droid lead the way down the white washed halls of the palace’s medical floor, it was bad enough that he had to do these in the first place, it was even worse that his creators were watching him throughout the whole examination.

 

Coming to a stop at two broad door the little types in a small code, keying the doors open. Wincing as the bright light spills from the room, Ratchet forces his pedes forwards. Climbing atop the only berth his pedes are guided into stirrups by nameless assistants preparing him for the doctor, who was probably discussing matters with his creators in the examination room above him at that very moment. Hissing as the stirrups are pulled apart and locked into place, Ratchet falls onto glaring at anyone brave enough to lock optics with him.

 

In the next few moments the assistants strategically strip of his robes until he’s nothing but a shivering pile of bared protoform, with only thin covers protecting his spark and equipment. They move back to their original stations to make for the doctor, who walks through the door in less than a click later. Not bothering with the explanation of the procedure, the two of them have been through it enough times. The doctor snaped his fingers which brings one of the mechs running to place an odd duel fingered glove over his hand.

 

Powering up the glove made several transparent screen hover above the now arm length cover, receiving data by a glowing green tendril. Dipping the gloved hand into a green jelly Ratchet opens his covering for his interface unit, bracing for the odd intrusion. While the substance did act like a lubricant and did numb the pleasure nodes in his valve, it still felt as if someone poking around none to gently inside his valve.

 

Feeling the brush of the fingers on his seal made him wince, the pain only continued as the doctor tested its strength. As if to see if anyone had attempted to break it, clenching his dentae Ratchet refused to make a sound as the seal was pushed it the limit, there was no need to make more embarrassing then it already was. If that wasn’t bad enough the holo-screen attached to the glove showed the dimensions of his lower frame while the probing fingers were still inside, marked with green to be more visible within the x-ray.

 

Knowing not to be relieved once the probing stopped; a small tube was inserted along with the two fingers as Ratchet felt his gestation tank start to expand. The heavy gas forcing his tank to expand until his protoform was forced outwards, and kept pushing until Ratchet was left gasping like a fish when the tank reached maximum expansion. Nodding once the doctor motioned for the gas to be turned off, pulling the tube and fingers out as well. Moving up Ratchet’s frame to face his still expanded abdomen, four tubes were placed in four point where the gestation vents were kept open. Placing both hands on the protoform the doctor had quickly placed all his force on two points of expansion, forcing the gas out quickly. Choking on his own in-vent Ratchet struggled not to make a noise as the painful pressure forced the gas out of his tank.

 

As fast as it had started it had stopped, the reaming gas flushed and vents sealed his tank returned to be the air tight tank it had been before. Quickly testing his chest seals, the doctor turned his back and headed for the door of the examination room. No latter was Ratchet allowed to dress and be released from the room. Still feeling the slick residue from the examination slide down his legs, Ratchet doubled his pace in hope of having a long oil bath as if to wash away the feel of the doctor’s fingers from memory.

 

 

 


End file.
